


Too Late

by et_cetera55



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:03:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/et_cetera55/pseuds/et_cetera55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in response to a picture prompt (red liquid dripping into a colourless liquid) over at <a href="http://thegameison-sh.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://thegameison-sh.livejournal.com/"><b>thegameison_sh</b></a> but never posted there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I own none of the characters - I'm just borrowing them temporarily  
>  **Warning: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS INCLUDING SUICIDE**  
> 

The door flew open and Sherlock rushed in, slamming it behind him. John looked up from the kitchen table in surprise. Did they have a new case? He was about to ask when Sherlock (who in a few hurried strides had approached the table) tugged on John’s shirt, meaning John either had to stand quickly or risk losing another one. He stood.

Sherlock looked at him silently for the tiniest of pauses before pulling on his shirt again and crushing his lips against John’s own in a hard kiss. Delighted that for once it wasn’t him initiating the physical side of their relationship John responded, wrapping one arm around Sherlock’s torso whilst stroking his neck with the other. John couldn’t help but moan as Sherlock bit his lower lip, thrusting his hips up against John’s.

It was… he smelt… John didn’t have time to finish his thoughts as Sherlock pushed him back against the table, sending a glass of water smashing down onto the floor. John felt Sherlock’s erection hard against his own and canted his hips, the denim of his jeans suddenly feeling far too tight.

But suddenly John noticed Sherlock wasn’t panting with excitement anymore. He was gasping as if each breath was painfully hard to inhale. And now John looked he could see the dilated pupils, the flushed face – these were no longer symptoms of arousal, if they had been at all. John pushed him away whilst still clutching his arms.

“Sherlock?”

“Sorry… John…” Sherlock gasped. “… knew… poison… wanted…show…how I… feel-“ He broke off.

“What Sherlock? What is it? What poison?!” John shouted at him, barely able to breathe himself as fear clamped around his chest.

Sherlock mumbled something that could have been ‘too late’ before his eyes rolled upwards and he collapsed. John only just caught him in time to stop his head from smashing into the tiles, barely noticing the slight twinge of pain as he sliced his hand on the broken glass as he arranged Sherlock on his back.

“No Sherlock!” he ordered. “You can’t do this to me! You _can’t_!”

Holding his fingers to Sherlock’s neck and fumbling in his trouser pocket with his other hand he fished his phone out and dialled 999, demanding an ambulance immediately.

During the phone call he lost Sherlock’s pulse.

* * *

Stuck in a car racing towards Baker Street as fast as London traffic would allow, Mycroft surveyed the scene shown by the live-streamed footage from the several hidden cameras still left in 221b. Sherlock was lying staring unseeing at the ceiling, his body probably already starting to cool. John was sitting next to him, leaning against a chair leg, his whole body shaking. He was holding his hand above a small puddle of water, dazedly watching the blood drip into it from a small cut.

Despite the poor image quality Mycroft saw the moment John’s gaze alighted on the large shard of glass glistening with blood lying between their bodies. He spotted the moment John connected the broken glass to the bleeding cut on his hand. He recognised the moment John decided to join his lover.

The paramedics were too late to save either of them.


End file.
